


The old gods

by Wassereis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: !ancient god Tom Riddle, Altar Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Overstimulation, Rimming, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:07:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21917962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wassereis/pseuds/Wassereis
Summary: Will Harry be able to convince an old god to help him?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 11
Kudos: 690
Collections: Chamber of Secrets' Winter Exchange (2019)





	The old gods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashgoblinwizardparty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashgoblinwizardparty/gifts).



> Hello mith, 
> 
> I was reading through your likes/dislikes and your prompts. So I decided to make something that I hope you will like!
> 
> I sadly had no time to really thoroughly read through it again and I hope there aren't too many mistakes.
> 
> I hope you like it ♥
> 
> Lilith

The last few weeks have been stretching, almost feeling like years to Harry. At the same time it's as if the world is moving around him, with him just looking at the fast blur of students rushing to classes and their common rooms.  
Time is going by too fast and he doesn't have an answer to his problem at all.  
At night he tosses and turns until he wakes up without even realizing he had fallen asleep. During the day he can't concentrate on classes, Sirius an all consuming thought that doesn't leave room for magical theory or spells.  
Hermione looks at him with pity in her eyes, for his non existing notes or his mental state, he can't say. He thinks that maybe he should ask her for help, but he can't drag her into another one of his “adventures”, not when she had almost been expelled the last time. He has to do this on his own, if only he knew what he can do.  
Just as the summer heat was at its highest, even the cooling spells on the house not doing much in the midsummer heat, men had come to take Sirius away.  
Harry had recognized the dark uniforms immediately. Ministry henchmen, following Grindelwalds command blindly. They had shoved a paper in his face before storming the house, throwing doors, ripping everything apart. They had stunned Sirius and ignored Harry tears and screaming, dragging his godfather outside and apparating before Harry even realized what had happened, what this meant.  
Sirius has been in a holding cell in the lowest level of the ministry for 64 days now. 64 days that Harry has been trying to find an answer how to help him.  
He has read the official letter a hundred times, even Hermione couldn't find any loophole. The allocations of treason were true, Sirius had angrily ranted about Grindelwald, the ministry and the society many times in the privacy of Grimmauld Place. The letter stated that Sirius Black had committed treason at exactly quarter to eight pm at the 25th of august 1997, questioning the authority of the magical leader of England Gellert Grindelwald and his ministry of magic. The trial was pending and with everything that had happened since Harry had entered the magical world, it's clear to him that he has to free Sirius, at all costs.  
Harry is angry at Sirius for being so careless, even the walls have eyes and ears here at Hogwarts, he knows that saying one wrong word can cost a life and Sirius knows that as well. He has always warned Harry never to speak of this outside of their home, not with anyone. And then he had done it himself, at a crowded pub no less. But he's all that Harry has left, he needs Sirius, needs to save him. The biggest problem is Harry has no idea how to do that. 

The day drags on and Harry just pushes his food around on his plate while Hermione and Ron bicker over something that he doesn't listen to.  
He can still Sirius wide panicked eyes staring at him. Can still feel the cold terror in his bones.  
Someone tugs at his sleeve and he drags himself to his next class. Lost in thoughts he doesn't listen at first.  
“... giving them powers that are forgotten today.” Harry perks up and stares at Professor Ainsworth, his history of magic teacher. A small glimmer of hope sparks inside him and he listens with rapt attention.  
“Today we may pray to a single god, or no god at all, but in the old days, centuries before our time, it was common to pray to these old gods. Not much is known today about what gods they prayed to or what powers witches and wizards gained from prayer, but do not be mistaken, they truly believed that the gods granted them wishes, knowledge and power.” Maybe this is the answer Harry has been waiting for, maybe this is Sirius' ticket to freedom.  
“There aren't a lot of documents of rituals or prayers, as it was seen as private what gods were worshiped and how they were worshiped. Only few anecdotes and books talk about these old gods, but there are texts rumored to be in the libraries of old families, who still worship the old gods from time to time. It can be said however, that those religious beliefs were very real and practiced widely in the magical community before the pagan religions were condemned by the christian religion muggles often belong to. With the witch hunting and fear of all things magical, a lot of witches and wizards had to blend into the muggle world to avoid detection and over time less people worshiped the old gods and today few of you would even know of the old rituals and the old gods.”  
Harry was listening intently, not even taking notes. Out of the corner of his eyes Harry sees Hermiones hand shoot up.  
“Yes? Miss Granger.” The look in Hermiones eyes is eager and Harry wonders, not for the first time, if she should have been in Ravenclaw.  
“Has there been any proof that these gods really granted any sort of power, knowledge or wishes, Sir?” Her eyes are huge, curious as ever.  
“As I mentioned earlier, the worship is private” He pauses for a moment. “but yes, there are documents that describe surges in power, achieved pregnancy after many years and sudden wealth. Personal accounts of witches and wizards, that account the powers of the old gods for these miracles.” The professor looks at Hermione. “Although I'm not sure if this would be enough proof for you Ms. Granger. But I, personally, wouldn't put it into the realm of the impossible.”  
He looks over the class.  
“For next week I want one scroll about the old gods and the possible connection between certain gods and their granted powers. There won't be a lot to go on, but don't be discouraged.”  
He smiles slightly.  
“Have a good evening. Class dismissed.”  
Chairs are scraping over the old stone floors and students file out of the room. Harry slowly packs his things in his satchel, mind on the old gods. 

Even when the assignment is over and handed in, Harry is pouring over books in the library.  
Professor Ainsworth has moved on to witch hunting and the formation of the first hidden wizard villages, but Harry is still clinging to the old deities like a lifeline.  
If this is real, even if it's the smallest chance, then he will take it. Maybe these gods can grant him just this one wish. If he wants it hard enough, they will listen to him; they have to.  
He needs Sirius back. 

Even though Harry is reading through every text, scroll and book that just mentions this religion, there isn't enough information how or where to pray to these gods.  
Even though he doesn't believe in God the almighty, he had prayed to him after Sirius vanished, but not one insight had come to him. Nothing had happened. He had given up on the christian god helping or seeing him; if he ever existed.  
He hadn't believed in magic before he was 11 and it was truly mind blowing that something coming straight from a fairly tale existed.  
Now he just hopes that this miracle can happen again. That the gods are real, just sleeping, beneath the thin surface of his reality. He just has to find a way to wake them, or maybe just one; he doesn't really know how this works.  
He thinks about the old families, their old knowledge. One evening he tries to coax information from Neville Longbottom, a shy boy from his house, who belongs to one of those families, but either he knows even less than Harry (who has researched within an inch of his life) or he is just keeping this a secret, like Ainsworth said the old families do.  
Hermione is becoming a problem as well. Usually Harry studies as much as he has to, but no more than that. Now he is immersing himself in a topic, just as much as she usually is and it makes her suspicious.  
Harry tells her he's just very interested and tries to avoid her questions and her presence, even though they are both in the library most of the time.  
He's sure she'll make the connection soon enough, but still doesn't want to involve her in something potentially dangerous. He has cost enough grief. He has to do this on his own.

Just before christmas break Harry is getting antsy. It's not all surprising they are letting a almost 17 year old to return to an empty house, but he is relieved he doesn't have to go back to his aunt and uncle.  
Luckily Grindelwald is ruling with an iron fist, so swamped with the prisoners he is taking for all kinds of offenses that getting to trial is taking months, sometimes even longer. But still, Harry doesn't want to count on that.  
Sirius is probably sitting in a overcrowded cell, hungry and dirty. He needs to get him out of there as soon as possible.  
As soon as he gets home to Grimmauld place, he has to search through the library. By now Harry regrets that he isn't an avid reader like Hermione, or he would know what kind of books they have in there. But he never really cared much before, rather spending his time with other things.  
While he is counting the days until he can finally go home, he is rereading a scroll from Myrtle Mabbot, describing her miracle pregnancy at an old age, after she prayed to the her god for months.  
Harry doesn't really know how much of a miracle it was, but a witch describing herself as old seems like there is some merit. In the wizarding world even women who look really old don't like to be called that, as their aging is a lot slower than that of muggles and they still feel young.  
Still, Harry has never seen a witch being pregnant that was even close to that age.  
Most of the scroll just describes he joy over the pregnancy and other mundane things. The old god just a small portion of the text and thus not really helpful, especially since she isn't describing the process at all.

After the last few days before the break have dragged by slowly he finally arrives at Grimmauld place. It's eerily empty and cold. Usually Sirius loud voice is filling the space that feels too quiet now.  
But Harry is on a mission so he just throws his trunk in the hallway and take two steps at a time, up to the family library.  
At first he skims through books that have some connection to religious rituals, then through history books, then through magical artifacts. There is absolutely nothing.  
Not a word on old gods or even miracles or wishes or power. Two days have gone by and there is nothing. Sometimes Kreacher, their houseelf, pops in and brings him a sandwich, sometimes he shakes Harry awake when he has fallen asleep on one of the old tomes.  
There is no progress and Harry is getting desperate. He is manically searching through texts that have no connection to the worship at all, hoping for something.  
On the fourth day he awakes in his bed. As soon as he sits up and puts his glasses on, a loud pop startles him.  
“Master, Sir.” The small creature says. “Kreacher brought you to bed yesterday. Master needs sleep and food, Sir.”  
Harry rubs his eyes and feels a little more like himself after he slept in his own bed.  
“Thank you Kreacher. I think I needed it.” Suddenly it strikes him. Kreacher has been the house elf in the Black family for decades.  
“Kreacher!” The elf flinches.  
“Yes, Sir?” His tiny hands wring at hem of the old tea towel he is wearing like a toga.  
“Do you know anything about the old gods? Any books in here that could help me find out about them?!” Kreacher tilts his head to the side and looks at him with huge curious eyes.  
“Noone has talked about them in a long long time. Kreacher doesn't know a lot. House elfs aren't worthy to know, Sir.” Harry stares at him, trying to convey that he needs to know everything that the elf ever picked up.  
“But there's the old diary from Miss Walburga. In the master bedroom. Perfect miss always wrote down everything.” The elf smiles to himself in memory of his old master.  
Harry jumps out of bed, running past the elf to the unused room.  
Sirius never wanted to sleep in here, Harry can't even recall if any of them ever went into there.  
The room is surprisingly clean, no dust on the bedside tables or the vanity. It's all made of red wood and shiny white marble, dark floorboards. Kreacher obviously takes good care of this room, more so than the rest of the house by the looks of it.  
Harrys eyes lock on a bookshelf, filled with smaller books and big tomes. He walks over to it and pulls one from the shelf. There is no title on the spine or the cover. It's a dusty blue, with a small white flower on the cover. He opens it carefully and there is a name, handwritten with dark blue ink on the first page. Dorea Black, 1937. It's a diary.  
He looks over the spines of the books still neatly placed on the shelf. All are different colors, from black to muted rose to blues. It's all diaries. Presumably from the Black family.  
Harry draws a deep breath. Professor Ainsworth had said that the worship was private, and whats more private than a diary.  
Hope blossoms in his chest. This could be what he was looking for.  
He skims through one diary after another. They are sorted by person and date, which makes it a lot easier. Reading through the ramblings of lovesick teenagers is partly amusing and strenuous, but there are bits and pieces about the gods.  
Dorea describes going to the festivities on Samhain in the dark woods and her white dress. She complains endlessly about Violetta insisting that she wear her hair in the traditional way, much like Violetta did 30 years earlier with her mother.  
Even though Harry has one goal in mind, he still smiles over the antics of his grandmother in her younger years. It's bitter sweet to get to know her through her diary and most private thoughts.  
He picks up on the mention of a dark forest multiple times and makes the connection as he reads through the pages of Cassiopeias diary. The dark forest is close to Hogwarts, Cassiopeia words are smudged in some parts as she excitingly writes about her parents come to visit her at Hogwarts on Beltane for the festivities. They are to announce her engagement with one Gregory Witcomb. Harry reads about her excitement for the new dress her mother bought her for the festivities and the jewelry. Her classmates are jealous and she seems to radiate joy from the pages, her handwriting in big loops.  
Then Beltane arrives and there are no entries for the next few weeks.  
The next one is somber, almost in grief. Everything has crumbled around Cassiopeia, as her father had a fallout with the Witcomb family over a business deal and the engagement had promptly been broken off.  
Harry remembers from the family tapestry that Cassiopeia would never be married.  
He swallows his feelings over the sadness he feels for young Cassiopeia and connects the dots. The so called dark forest is now called the forbidden forest. They worshiped the gods in the forbidden forest; at least at Beltane.  
Over the next few hours he learns that they prayed regularly, not just on holidays, although those were celebrated and special occasions were the gods had been worshiped.  
He learns that even in Doreas and Cassiopeias time the festivites were kept secret within a few old families. The old gods had been forgotten by the families with less history and 'prestige' as Pollux puts it in his black leather bound journal.  
At noon Harry had a quick snack while going slowly working his way through the newer journals of Walburga and Cygnus, who didn't write as much as his ancestors before him.  
Walburga leaves a few more clues to the exact location of an altar in the forbidden forest, which Harry swears to find. She talks about the oldest part of the forest and the olde magic within, which Harry can make no real sense of, but imagines it must be something like Hogwarts magic itself, which always felt ancient to him.  
He will have to ask Hagrid about the forest in more detail once he gets back.  
Things get really interesting as soon as he gets to Bellatrix' journals. She seemed to have a real obsession with one god in particular and gushes on about the power she felt and the good grades he helped her achieve. She seemed to have often wandered the forest at night to pray and just visit the altar, kept it clean and cared for it. She left little offerings every few days, even though she mourns that she never saw the gods form, which her mother swears she once did.  
Much as with magic, the gods power seem to be granted on intent; how much one wishes for the thing they want to achieve. 

On New Year's Eve Harry has read through every journal twice. He has gotten one gift from Hermione, which he opened absentmindedly during dinner.  
It's a soft brown leather journal, which he can't help but smile about. Keeping the family tradition, he thinks.  
He starts writing everything down that will help him find the altar and all the general information he could deduct from the journals.  
He completely misses New Year's as he passes out way before that and wakes the next morning in his bed. Much of his things had been left in the trunk, so he doesn't have to pack much for his trip back to Hogwarts. Kreacher makes him a big English breakfast, which almost makes Harry think that the elf will miss him. 

That evening in bed Harry realizes that he could have a chance to pray at the altar during Julfest, which might give him a better chance to get an answer, thin veil and all that. But he barley has any time left before it ends tomorrow night. Luckily classes will only continue on the 3rd so he will have a chance to talk to Hagrid and search for the altar, although he doesn't feel too optimistic.  
The other boys are sleeping while Harry tosses and turns before he dreams of a figure shrouded in dark and whispering to him. 

The next morning he rushes to breakfast and sees Hagrid sitting at the teachers table. He eats fast and watches Hagrid every few seconds, to not miss him leaving the great hall.  
When Hagrid is finally finished with his enormous breakfast and makes his way through the hall, Harry jumps up and walks up to him.  
“Hello Hagrid.” He's a little out of breath, because he has to take two steps when Hagrid takes one.  
“Hellu Harry. Happy New Year.” The half giant smiles.  
“Uh, yes. You too. Thank you.” The make their way through the entrance hall. “I have to ask you something.”  
“What is it, Harry?”  
“Where is the oldest part of the forbidden forest, Hagrid?”  
Hagrid scratches his beard.  
“Not that far from Hogwarts actually. You would think it's in the middle, but it's not.”  
Harry nods eagerly.  
“It's just off the the east, a little way in of course.”  
The walk through the entrance and Harry puts his coat on, still following the huge man.  
“So it wouldn't be hard to find?”  
“There's even a trail, not used much anymore, but it's there. Yeah.” Hagrid looks at him.  
“You're not planning to go there, do you Harry?”  
Harry laughs, a little forced.  
“No, no. Of course not. Just curious.”  
Hagrid believes him immediately and smiles.  
“You wanna come in for a cuppa?” They are almost at groundkeepers hut.  
“Uh no. Have to do some homework, but I'll come by soon, ok?”  
“Sure Harry. Come by any time.” Hagrid smiles and Harry stops and waves until Hagrid has disappeared inside. When he is sure he isn't being watched he walks toward the forest. 

Harry navigates his way through the first trees to be out of sight, but still be able to see the snow covered grounds of the castle. The last thing he needs is to get lost right now.  
He walks further east until he finds an unused trail, which is almost completely overgrown with dark green vines, despite the cold weather.  
A huge boulder is one of the way points he remembers from Bellatrix' journal. He inspects it a bit and finds a faded rune. This has to be it. Excitement bubbles up in his chest and he follows the trail, minding his steps over the branches and vines that are littering the trail.  
He walks for a long time, which is partially due to the overgrown path. He has to walk back a few times to check that he is still on the trail and tries to remember a few markers that will help him find the way back a little easier.  
The forest becomes more dense before it slowly clears up and the trees become larger and larger. Harry feels like a dwarf while he walks through the huge trees. He has never seen trees this size. The ground is covered in lush green, as if it's spring and not mid-winter. There are plants with small glowing berries or orbs on their tiny branches, the light from above is getting more muted the further he walks. The canopy is so dense that the winter sun only filters through in a few parts. The small plants start to give more light than the sun to illuminate the path in an eerie light.  
It's almost dead silent by now, the sounds of animals in the underbrush has stopped a few minutes ago and Harry gets a little scared, but grits his teeth and pushes on.  
Suddenly, Harry is sure he couldn't see this a second before, the trees open up, leaving a small clearing, the trees and obstructing vines just staying clear of it. Harry can feel the low hum of magic, even older than Hogwarts itself and shivers.  
This must be it.  
In the middle of the clearing is a block of black shining stone. He slowly walks closer, the hum of old magic getting stronger the closer he gets.  
As he is just a few steps away from the altar he can see his distorted reflection in the black obsidian, clean as if it had just been placed there. Not a single scratch on the even surface, even though it emits a feeling of the centuries itself. Harry can just tell it's older than anything he has felt before, without ever having an aptitude for feeling a lot of magic or something close to it.  
He takes a closer look at the altar, not daring to touch it. As he walks slowly around it he watches the runes carved in the sides, barley visible, as if swallowed by the black stone itself.  
Somehow he had imagined something more imposing and yet he can't imagine it any other way now. This is exactly what he was looking for.  
The longer he stays in the proximity of the stone, the more the wary feeling dissipates and morphs into comfort, the want to touch the altar.  
Harry takes a shuddering breath and takes a step back. This is exactly what Sirius described black magic as; compelling one to touch a cursed item, luring you in.  
But he is doing this for Sirius. And all the Blacks had touched the stone. This is his only hope he has of freeing his godfather. If this is somehow a trick, a curse, then so be it. He has to save Sirius, whatever the cost.  
He steps closer to the altar again, inviting the comforting feeling washing around him gently. He stretches his hand, his fingers trembling. His movement looks like slow motion as he finally touches the cold surface.  
An almost pain shoots through his hand, up his arm into his chest. It manifests itself with a connection that is so intimate that it brings tears to his eyes and Harry almost expects the god to just manifest itself right then and there, but nothing happens; just a feeling of connection and longing. The stone now feels warm to his touch, even as he moves his fingers over the surface.  
Harry sinks to his knees as he lays both hands on the smooth surface.  
“Please.” He whispers. “I need to save him. Please help me.”  
Nothing happens, just the low hum of magic around him, almost amused at his pleas.  
But at least Harry knows something is there, something powerful; so he pleads and prays until his knees hurts and his eyes are burning.  
Slowly he hauls himself up and walks back, thinking of ways to convince this god to find him worthy. 

As he arrives back at the castle it's almost curfew and times seems to have just sped up, because it didn't feel like he spend all day out there, sitting by the altar.  
He falls asleep very quickly and dreams of the figure again, urging him to give more, more, more; hungry like an animal. 

Over the next day in classes he thinks back to the journals and what he has learned from them. He needs an offering that will make the god appear to help him. He will just have to go with trial and error, so he decides to take some food to the altar that evening.  
Before he leaves for the forest he calls for Dobby, who return with a basket full of fresh fruit, bread and other delicious looking things.  
Again he makes his way through the forest unnoticed by anyone. The trip is shorter this time, as he makes his way through the thick underbrush.  
He places the basket on the altar, presents it to the entity and prays. He can feel the same thing he felt the day before, but again nothing else happens and Harry clenches his hands at his sides. He wishes he had some sort of guide for appeasing the gods. How to do this right. Maybe he is asking too much of it. 

He returns to the Altar almost every day. He brings different foods, jewelry, potion ingredients and all kinds of other goods he can think of.  
The thing seems to like books, but it doesn't appear either way.  
But Harry is sure he is on the right track, because every time he returns the things he offered last are gone, just empty wrapping cloths and baskets left.  
He just hopes it's not just a cruel turn of fade, that some other being took those things and he is hoping in vain.  
His dreams during the nights are persistent. A figure, he can almost make out the shape of a person, shrouded in a darkness that flows and ebbs around it; whispering encouraging, urging him to give more. He's almost certain that it's the god, asking him for who knows what.  
Winter turns into spring and the path that had been overgrown becomes familiar and clear. The feeling of the altar feels like coming come.  
And frustration starts to set in. What is it the god wants? 

On the 23th of april Harry receives a letter from the ministry. It's an invitation to the trial on the 5th of may, to speak on Sirius' behalf, which is a farce. No one had gotten declared innocent by Grindelwald because of good character yet. Not that Harry knows of and he has been following the trials closely since december.  
With Sirius charges it's as good as impossible to get him out of there at all. 

The next few days he desperately offers the most expensive things he can find. Then he offers one of the few photos he has of his parents, whispering how important this is to him. But there is no answer, no white light, no sudden miracle. Nothing. The soft warm hum of magic from the altar feels like it is mocking him. 

The days grow shorter for Harry, doom inevitable. Sirius trial is getting closer and Harry has nothing to show for his efforts. He almost offers his invisibility cloak. It's the most priceless artifact he owns. But no worldly possession had really interested this god up to now.  
He resolves to just pleading and begging at the altar and nothing happens. 

On the 31th he makes his way out later than usual. Hermione has started to question him relentlessly for a few weeks now. Where are you vanishing to Harry? What wrong? Where are you going? What are you doing with all that food?  
So he had waited until she left for the girls dorm and snuck out. He almost runs over the grounds.  
As he enters the old part of the forest something feels different and there is this hope again. Maybe he's there.  
Magic is caressing his skin, prickling and warm. The small lights from the plants now hover all around him. When he brushes one of the plants with his leg, the orbs slowly levitate into the air, just floating there. A million little lights, illuminating the pitch black of the forest.  
He has been walking this path so many times he could probably walk it blindfolded, so it's easy to find his way to the clearing.  
His breath catches as he sets eyes on the altar, it's shrouded in darkness, consuming the light around it. Still Harry can clearly see the black stone, it's like looking through a veil.  
He cautiously walks towards the familiar object, slowly slipping into the darkness that surrounds the altar. It feels warm, like a bath after a long day. Like the embrace of someone one loves.  
He sinks to his knees. Harry draws a shaky breath.  
If not today, then never. It has to be tonight, he has to make his appeals tonight.  
“Please. I've been here so many times. Can't you see that I'm devoted?!”  
He starts shaking. Desperation is taking over him.  
“I need you.” Tears are running down his cheeks and the pain in his chest over Sirius becomes all consuming. He will lose him if he doesn't do this right.  
A wind picks up on the clearing, but Harry doesn't notice it.  
“Please come to me! I will give anything.” He sobs.  
There is the same old silence and Harry can hear his own ragged breaths in his ears.  
“Anything?” A voice whispers behind him.  
Harry freezes and it's impossible to pin his emotions on a single one. He's elated, because finally it's here. In his presence!  
He's terrified, because what does it want?  
Slowly, testing if he is allowed, if it will stop him, he turns around on his knees.  
He keeps his eyes on the ground and sees flowing black fabric, just a few steps in front of him. Slowly he lifts his head.  
He doesn't know what he imagined. Maybe some kind of fairy tale monster, maybe an old man.  
Before him stands the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. He has dark hair, his skin is almost glowing in the unearthly light of the clearing. He is wearing something like a robe, flowing black fabric that doesn't look like anything Harry has seen before.  
The only inhuman thing Harry can see are his glowing red eyes.  
A slight smile spreads on his face and Harry sees a flash of white teeth. The man slowly closes the distance between them and lifts his hand to caress Harry's cheek gently.  
“My devoted mortal.” He has a deep voice that send a shiver down his spine and now that Harry has room to feel his touch and the air around them, he knows he has nothing on this being. This man feels like pure power and old magic. He feels like Harrys dreams for months, like sitting in the peaceful clearing every night; like home.  
Harry leans into the touch without thinking about it.  
“Yes.” He whispers, his voice hoarse.  
The man hums and licks his lips. He tilts his head a little.  
“Anything, mortal?” Harry is compelled to instantly agree and even as he thinks about it, anything will be worth getting Sirius back. He can take anything, as long as his loved ones are save.  
“Anything.” The god smiles upon him.  
He looks into his eyes, a deep unnatural red, glowing in the low light.  
“It's been so long since I could take this form. Lost in the centuries. The devoted ones dying, no one coming to my place of worship anymore.” He sighs.  
“And you found me. So devoted. So many offerings. Gave yourself to your god.” His fingers glide through Harrys hair.  
“Willing to give anything. I know what you desire, but do you know what I want in return?”  
Harry shakes his head.  
With a sudden inhuman strength he hauls Harry up and sets him on the altar and his face is mere centimeters from Harry's.  
“Everything.” He whispers, almost hissing. And then he leans down and kisses him.  
And Harry doesn't know whats going on, this doesn't feel like the other kisses he had. It sets him on fire, even though he can barely process it or even kiss back.  
Harry whimpers and lets himself be kissed. There is no room in his head for questioning it right now. He just tilts his head, keeps his hands at his sides.  
The man leans back and Harry slowly opens his eyes. Staring up at him, lying there like another offering.  
The god smirks knowingly and licks his lips. His tongue is split, like a snake.  
“This will be the first thing you will give me on this special night.” He is lifting his arms and a circle of darkness surrounds the clearing.  
“You have no idea how hungry I am after all those years sleeping.” His gaze reflects the bottomless hunger Harry has felt many times in his dreams and he squirms on the altar at the show of foreign power.  
“Are you going to kill me?” Harry's voice is shaking, he doesn't feel any fear, even though he knows he should be terrified. It's like he's frozen on the spot.  
The mans laughs, deep and rich.  
“Oh no. I am going to feast on your sweet innocence though.” Harry feels a blush creep up over the collar of his coat.  
“What?!” He squeaks.  
“Yes. But don't worry, I know how fragile you mortals are.” With that he kneels over Harry, his dark cloak brushing against Harry's hands.  
“I'll be as gentle as I can.” He cups Harry's cheeks gently and he relaxes under the soft hands.  
Elegant fingers trace over his face and Harry slowly starts to feel less awkward and closes his eyes to enjoy it. He feels the god leaning forward and their lips brush. This time Harry shyly kisses back, tries not to think about if he is doing good enough.  
“Don't worry, little one. I have enough experience for the both of us.” Another soft kiss follows.  
“Let me show you.” Soft lips press against his again and Harry moans softly at the tongue touching his. It seems obvious that his god has experience in this as his hands slowly wander over Harry's chest, opening his coat, slipping under his jumper. The mouth wanders from his lips over his cheek, below his ear. Familiar heat starts to spread through Harry's limbs and he lifts his hands to bury them in dark hair of the man.  
“What should I call you?” He gasps as the man gently bites his neck.  
“Just call me Tom.” He can feel the smile against his skin.  
Harry didn't know that something so simple could arouse him so much. Tom kisses over his jaw, biting him gently until Harry is squirming under him. He pulls Tom up and kisses him with urgent need, gently bites his lower lip.  
Tom laughs breathlessly.  
“Not so innocent, are we?” He shifts his hips and grinds his thigh against Harry's erection. He moans shamelessly and tries to move against him, but Toms hands press him down at the hips.  
“Mh. More.” Harry hums and Tom smiles. He makes a motion with his hand and Harry can't move his hips off the obsidian surface anymore. Tom sits down on Harry thighs and pulls him up, starts to take off his coat and jumper. He lies him down again and starts to open his shirt, button by button, caressing the newly revealed skin, looking at Harry hungrily.  
Harry feels like he is at the mercy of his god and it just fuels his arousal even further. It's not something Harry has done before, but being almost unable to move, just being touched and looked at seems to push bis buttons just right. He looks up at Tom with half lidded eyes, moaning softly. Gentle hands caress his stomach and his waist until his shirt is completely open. Harry barely notices that his shirt has vanished as his skin comes in direct contact with the altar.  
Toms hands are much warmer than Harry's skin and he shudders as Tom brushes his fingertips over his nipples. Fingers caress over his hipbones and Harry mewls as he brushes past the button of his pants.  
“Please, touch me.” He pleads.  
“But I am dear Harry.” Tom grins, red eyes gleaming.  
Tom gets up on his knees and slowly opens his own cloak, Harry can't take his eyes off of him. The fabric parts and reveals his god completely naked. The fabric bunches around his thighs and Harry can see the impressive erection, the hard planes of muscle and skin. He shudders, lips parted.  
He truly looks like a god and Tom bathes in the admiring gaze. His hand slowly wanders down and he grips his erection. Tom moans low, slowly stroking himself and looks at Harry face.  
Harry slowly lifts his hands, caresses over strong thighs, just getting used to having someone so close. He looks up at Tom, taking his eyes off his slowly moving hand.  
“Can I?” His blush is barley distinguishable to his flushed cheeks.  
Tom just nods and takes his own hand away. Harry's hand wraps around him carefully, so light he can barely feel it.  
For Harry this is known, yet a new experience. Tom doesn't feel much different from when he touches himself and he moves his finger over the tip, spreading some wetness over it. Tom takes a harsh breath and Harry is growing more confident. He tightens his hand and moves it the way he likes it on himself. After a few strokes he curiously lets go and licks the precome off his finger.  
Suddenly Tom gets to his knees again, making an impatient noise. Without much preamble he opens Harry's trousers and they just vanish like his shirt. Tom plays with the hem of his boxershorts and grins down at him.  
“I have been waiting for this.” One finger slips under the waistband. Harry squeezes his his eyes shut, clenching his hands. He can feel fingers pulling that last piece of clothing down and he buries his face in his hands, embarrassed and scared.  
“So beautiful.” Tom whispers close to his ear, taking Harry's hands in his own.  
“Harry, I'm really enjoying this and we haven't even started yet.” Harry looks up at him, still flushed with embarrassment.  
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. Your innocence entices me and I will make you feel so good you will beg me for it.” Tom closes his eyes for a second, imagining it.  
Harry shyly smiles and nods.  
“Give yourself to me.” Tom murmurs and slowly moves back, leans down. His mouth getting closer to Harry's straining erection. Harry holds his breath as a split tongue travels from root to tip.  
Tom groans and Harry moans helplessly. Tom takes him in his mouth and Harry couldn't have imagined how wet and hot a mouth could feel. He feels almost lucky he can't move his hips, because he wants to thrust into it so bad. Tom takes him deeper and Harry can barley keep his balance to watch it. It feels so good, like he is going to come way too soon, almost there already.  
Tom sucks, his cheeks hollowed and Harry falls back.  
“Oh... oh shit.” Tom hums and Harry's whole body shudders, it's so much. He can already feel the tingling in his toes, almost there. Suddenly there's a vice grip around him and his dick twitches feebly, not able to come.  
“Not yet.” Toms voice is rough and Harry is unable to focus on anything really, other than the pleasure and his voice, sounding like that.  
Hands on his hips suddenly turn him around and to his knees, his face pressed against the warm stone. Before Harry can complain there is wetness just behind his balls. He shudders, buries his face in his arms and moans some string of words he can't understand himself. The tongue moves up, between his asscheeks, over his hole. His thighs are shaking and he would be baffled that this could give him pleasure if he wasn't preoccupied with moaning until his voice breaks.  
“Please let me cum” He babbles, muffled by his arms. He can hear Tom moan and growl like he is getting as much out of this as Harry is.  
“Like this.” It's not a question and Harry whines, pushes against the tongue, Toms hands bruising on his ass, fingers digging into his skin. He feels the tongue breach him and tears start to fall from his eyes. He's almost there just a little more and he can finally come.  
Suddenly Tom gives him a hard slap on his ass and the sting of it, paired with the tongue still eating him out send him over the edge. He convulses and white paints the obsidian.  
“Yes.” Tom hisses. Harry opens his eyes, sees the milky cum slowly absorbing into the altar and then just the clear surface again.  
Tom doesn't stop what he is doing though and Harry shivers, knees shaking.  
“Too much. I can't..” He whines.  
“You can. And you will.” Another drag of his tongue. “Give me more.”  
Suddenly there's a slick finger at his hole, pushing in, but Harry feels so relaxed it's not much of a stretch.  
“That's it. Take it.” Tom licks around his finger, pushing further in, moving inside him. It's starting to feel just on the good side of too much and Harry is getting hard again.  
Harry is beyond words, fingers stretching him, Tom mouthing at his balls; he can just moan for more and faster. He starts to move against the fingers, fucking himself on them. He can't really tell whats happening, it's all just a mess of lust and building need.  
He feels Tom move again, fingers disappearing and something else right there. Harry takes a deep breath, tries to relax.  
Tom feels almost too big as he slowly pushes in. Harry feels like he is filling him out just as much as he can take, he's so full. All his shame and doubts are gone and later he will think back, blushing at the memory of the way he was behaving.  
He pushes back trying to take it all and Tom pulls back, pushes back in. He moves in languid thrusts, arms strained, fingers holding Harry so tight it hurts. He is holding back, as not to hurt him. But Harry wants more and faster and he says it, begs for it. Tom obliges, finally lets go of his restraint, fucks into him hard and fast. He hits something that would make Harry's legs give out if Tom wasn't holding him up.  
“Oh fuck. Yes.” Harry moans and tries to find some hold on the smooth surface.  
It's so dirty, the sounds they are making. The wet slide of Tom thrusting into him hard and fast, skin against skin; Harry's high pitched moans and Tom's low groans the only sounds on the clearing.  
Harry wishes this would never end, just staying in this state of being filled and the building pleasure forever. But he can already feel himself getting closer to the end again, Tom hitting that spot again and again.  
Tom wraps one arm around Harry's waist and pulls him up, against his chest, slowing his thrust into something more of grinding into him, but no less effective. He licks over Harry's neck, bites him, leaving dark marks.  
“You want to come again? Worship me?” He groans in Harry's ear as he thrusts in. Harry just nods frantically and leans his head against Tom's shoulder.  
Tom's hand wraps around his dick, strokes him, just in time with his shallow thrusts and Harry trembles, clutching at Toms arm for support.  
“Come for me, let me feel you come on my dick Harry.” Tom swipes him thump over the tip and bites him hard in the juncture of shoulder and neck and Harry comes, on command.  
He can feel Tom thrust into him hard three more times before he shudders and moans, coming inside him.  
Harry's vision blacks out around the edges, creeping further in before he passes out or falls asleep, he's not sure. 

Harry is wrapped in dark, comfortable, warm; home.  
He wakes with a start and looks around the blurry shapes in the dark. He's in his bed in the dorms. He puts on his glasses and looks around frantically.  
His body feels sore all over.  
His ass hurts and he feels something leaking out.  
There is an amused chuckle from his right and he turns. Tom is sitting there, at his desk.  
“What? How am I here? How are you here?” He asks, totally confused.  
Tom stands elegantly and walks over to him, leans over Harry.  
“You belong to me now Harry.” His fingers trace over Harry's jaw gently. “You gave me everything I asked for... so far.” A smile plays around his lips.  
“And as promised, everything will be well with your godfather.” He sighs, overly dramatic.  
“As long as you worship me, everything will be fine.”  
It sounds almost like a threat, but Harry feels relieved. He doesn't regret what happened and Sirius will be fine. That's all he wanted.  
Everything will work itself out. Even if he has to serve Tom forever.  
Tom smiles indulgently and his thump brushes over Harry's lower lip.  
“So devoted.” He whispers.


End file.
